


Unnecessary

by Chipper99



Series: Destiel One Shots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, First Kiss, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chipper99/pseuds/Chipper99
Summary: It was all that encompassed his mind. As he sat there, eyes trained on the blood that refused to stop flowing from Dean, he could only think to himself; What if this is it? What if he can't do whats needed of him, can't do something as simple as prepare a needle for stitching.What if...What if Dean doesn't make it?After a routine hunt goes bad and Dean gets himself mortally wounded, a newly human Castiel is left to try and patch him together, this time without the help of his grace.





	Unnecessary

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie to you guys, I'm trying my best not to vomit in fear as I prepare to upload this.
> 
> This is my first ever Destiel fic, and to say this pairing means a lot to me is the understatement of the century. 
> 
> Destiel is the reason I started reading fanfiction, and is how I found this wonderful site right here. I begun uploading fics of a different pairing to dip my toe into the art of writing fanfiction, and now after nearly 7 years of reading Destiel fics, I finally decided to have a go at writing my own.
> 
> I did my best, and I hope anyone that reads it enjoys it!

Castiel knew there was going to be countless new experiences now that he was a human. Well, perhaps not _new_ exactly, more that he would be experiencing them in a different way, through different eyes, through different skin, through a different being.

Not as an angel.

Before, he had more senses than he could name. He perceived the world in a different way to the mortals on Earth, all essential for him to complete his duties as a soldier of God to the best of his ability. As was expected of him, of course.

And yet, somehow, now that he has lost all these senses, it’s as if he's experiencing the ones he is left with for the first time all over again. The feeling of the bunkers shower pounding on his back was as miraculous as the first time he had felt it, and he hadn't realized just how much he had missed the sweet and salty combination of a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich.

Actual _flavors_, not just... Molecules.

As an angel, he could hear anything for miles and miles. From the idle conversations of passing strangers the town over, to the scratching claws of a mouse, digging a new home somewhere within the bunker walls. All sounds he would tune out when not needed, able to pinpoint the sounds that would actually be _useful _to him.

Now, he's hearing more than he ever had. The beautiful melodies that vibrated through his body whenever he listened to the tape that Dean had made for him that elicit an emotional response deep inside that he can't quite name, at least not yet.

The sound of a pen scratching against paper and the repetitive clicks of a keyboard as he sits with Sam in the library, taking notes from the lore for whatever hunt it is they're preparing for next, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans in the background as Dean moves around the kitchen, a haven they hadn't expected Dean to find himself in.

Or in the evening he would aimlessly wander around the bunkers halls, and the sound of the brothers muted laughter from within one of the rooms as they watched whatever show on Netflix that they were wrapped up in would stop him in his tracks, such a simple sound that would bring a smile to his face that be had no control over.

Not that it compared to the smile that he could feel burning on his face when Dean could hear him wandering around and pull him into the room so they could all watch together.

So yes, there were a lot of new things for him to experience. Here's the thing; These are all good things. The things he's found to enjoy with humanity. These were the things he had to try to remember whenever he was going through the bad experiences, which far outnumbered the good things.

What he was experiencing now? This was one of the bad ones.

This was the suffocating, painful icy grip of fear that was clenching around his chest as he pulled the first aid kid out of the back of the Impala with shaky hands.

This was the disbelief that his heart hadn't given out despite how unbelievably fast it was pounding in his chest as he pulled Dean out of the passenger seat of the Impala.

This was the sickening feeling of warm, slick blood soaking into his side as he carries Dean to the front door of the motel. The feeling of Dean's pulse against his fingers as he desperately clasped at his arm that had been thrown over Castiel’s shoulder for support.

It was listening to the sharp, pained inhales of air that Dean was sucking through his teeth with every movement, the small whimpers of pain he was trying his best to keep quiet.

"Dammit, Dean." Castiel cursed as he kicked the door closed behind him, pulling Dean over to a nearby armchair and gently lowering him into it.

Dean winced at the movement despite how careful Castiel was being, his pale and clammy skin doing nothing to calm the overwhelming panic Castiel was feeling.

"I don't know _why_ you thought you needed to do that. It was beyond reckless, it--"

"M’ gonna be fine, Cas. This ain't my first injury on a hunt, and it won't be the last." Dean interrupted his scolding, moving his hand away from his sliced open side to reach for the bottle of whiskey that was sat on a nearby side table.

"Keep pressure on that." Castiel instructed him, smacking his hand away and quickly grabbing the bottle Dean had been reaching for.

"I know what I'm doing, Cas. Like I said, ain't my first time. I need a drink to-"

"To help numb the pain, yes I know." Castiel finished as he shoved the bottle into the hand Dean wasn't currently using to hold his injury, returning to the open first aid kid and pulling out some pieces of gauze.

Dean wasted no time, taking a swig from the bottle and wincing at the simultaneous burning of the drink sliding down his throat, and the burning of his side as Castiel began painstakingly peeling his shirt from his body, tossing it to the side and wiping the blood from his side with the gauze.

"You don't need to baby me. I can do this myself just fine."

"Well, I'm going to" Castiel snapped, throwing the dirtied gauze away and yanking off the cap to a bottle of antiseptic, pouring it onto a clean piece of gauze and wiping at Dean's wound before he can even say anything in return, who gritted his teeth at the familiar sting.

Dean stayed quiet as Castiel continued his work, taking occasional sips from the bottle in his hand to hide his winces whenever a fresh bout of pain came along.

Castiel pulled a sterilized needle from its packaging, unwinding a spool of surgical thread and attempting to thread it through the hole on the top of the needle. Attempt being the keyword here, as his stubborn hands were refusing to stop shaking, making it much too difficult to push the thread through the infuriatingly small hole.

Here Dean was, blood spilling from an open wound, yet keeping perfectly calm and patient. And here he was, unable to even place a bit of a string through a hole.

Finally, his hands still enough for him to push the thread through. Even so, a small whisper in his mind was cruel enough to make him wonder whether Dean was being as calm as he was due to the blood loss.

It was all that encompassed his mind. As he sat there, eyes trained on the blood that refused to stop flowing from Dean, he could only think to himself; What if this is it? What if he can't do what's needed of him, can't do something as simple as prepare a needle for stitching.

What if...

What if Dean doesn't make it?

He places a quivering hand on Dean's chest, keeping him still and pinned against the chair, raising his other hand with the needle up to the wound. His eyes briefly flicker up to Dean's, only Dean has his eyes closed and his head back, clearly trying to breathe through the pain.

He had pierced skin with a blade numerous times in his existence, felt the resistance against his hand as he forced the blade further into his assailant's flesh. Somehow, piercing skin with a needle seemed to have so much more weight to it.

Because it was _Dean_.

Because he was hurting him not to injure him, but to save his life.

The wound refused to stop bleeding, making his hand slippery with blood as he tugged the needle through Dean's skin, making it nearly impossible to see the thread through the wave of red. Without thinking, he had raised a hand over the wound, expecting to see a flash of blinding white light.

There wasn't, of course. He was left there holding a hand over Dean's bleeding side, the only saving grace he had being that Dean hadn't seen his mistake.

Both himself and Dean had gritted teeth, though for entirely different reasons. Castiel had to, in order to push down the frustration he felt as he continued to work, not wanting to accidentally hurt Dean with what he was sure would be agitated movement if he let the irritation overtake him.

Oh, how he yearned for those days. The times when no matter how drastic of an injury the boys had received, all that was required of him was a wave of the hand and an ebb of his grace would stitch them back together, knitting them back to health, right down to their atoms.

A time where damn near anything could have happened to Dean, and he wouldn't be feeling this fear. Would be in control of his body, of his emotions. Because he had the power of _God_ flowing through his entire existence, and even if he were to watch Dean be shot in the head, have his throat ripped out, or have claws pierce through his heart, it wouldn't have mattered. All he would have to do was place a hand on him, and he would mend his broken body as if nothing ever happened, and yank his soul right back down to where it belonged.

He couldn't do that now. Now, all he had was this first aid kit, what little he knew of first aid and human anatomy, and these uncooperative human hands.

"Hey,"

Dean's voice was rough, but his tone was gentle, the same as his grip on Castiel’s wrist. Truth be told, Castiel didn't know if it was gentle, or just weak.

His eyes were slightly unfocused and glazed over, whether it be from the blood loss or the alcohol, but he was still doing his best to catch Castiel’s gaze.

"It's going to be okay."

It was like Dean, to be doing all he can to reassure others when it was himself in mortal peril. Despite his pain, was trying his hardest to extinguish the pain of those he cared about.

But it did nothing to reassure Castiel. The choice of words that unsettled him so much.

It’s going to be okay.

Not _I'm_ going to be okay.

_It's_ going to be okay.

A pain Castiel had begun to get used to, the burning in his throat that felt as if it had closed up, swallowing past the lump in his throat that had formed at Dean's earnest words. Fighting back the tears forming in his eyes that he refused to let out. Not now, not while Dean was still here, needing his help.

So he does what he knows best. Fight through the pain, get done what needs to be done. He has to fight back the constant urge to check on Dean, to feel for his pulse, for he knows he'll never get this done if he does.

Castiel’s hands blindly grabbed the table next to him for the scissors as he finished the last stitching, the cold metal of the handle a striking contrast to the warmth of Dean's now drying blood on his hands.

He pulls the stitch as tight as he dares, snipping it close to the skin and dressing up the wound with a bandage, delicately pulling Dean forward as he wraps it around him, fearing Dean could break with a simple touch.

The only time Castiel had seen Dean so pale was when he was dead, which certainly wasn't a comforting thought. Dean's head was lolled against his shoulder, knocked out from the lack of blood. Castiel briefly wondered if he was hallucinating the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, and with nothing left he could do, he doesn't bother resisting the urge to feel for his pulse, fingers sliding up Dean's neck and resting slightly below his jaw.

It's there. It's slow, and not as strong as Castiel would have liked, but it's there.

The word 'exhausted' didn't even begin to cover what Castiel was feeling right now, but the thought of sleeping was downright laughable. Not when Dean was hurt, not when he was still at risk.

Castiel tugs the bottle out of Dean's grip, placing it back onto the table where it originally was before stepping towards Dean. He might not have been as strong as he once was, and he was definitely shorter than Dean, but that didn't stop him from reaching for Dean, careful not to touch his injured side as he slips his arms beneath his legs and back, straining against Dean's weight as he pulled him close to his chest, making sure he was secure in his arms.

It’s more of a stumble than a walk to one of the twin beds in the room, but he gets there anyway, placing Dean down on top of the sheets as gently as he could.

He all but collapses down into the bed opposite, shrugging off his trenchcoat and tossing it down next to him, burrowing his head into his hands that were resting against his knees. He represses the sobs but doesn't bother to fight off the tears that had begun to spill from behind his eyelids, letting them slip down his face and listen to the 'pitter-patter' sound of them as they hit the dust-filled motel carpet beneath his feet.

He had done all he could, and it still might not be enough. Dean was alive for now, but there was no telling how his condition would turn during the night.

There was only one thing Castiel knew for sure, and that was that this was going to be a long night.

Usually, Castiel hated seeing Dean in the midst of one of his nightmares. The concrete walls of the bunker were practically soundproof, and so it was only when he passed by Dean's door that he would hear his panicked cries, peeking into the room to see Dean fidgeting through his nightmare, movements more agitated depending on how bad the nightmare was.

Now, he wanted nothing more than to see it. Because it was infinitely better than seeing just how 'still' Dean was right now, laid flat out on the bed like a lifeless doll, not moving a muscle. The only positive to this was that it made the rise of his chest with every breath all the more prominent, checking off his minutely requirement of ensuring Dean was still alive.

This becomes more difficult as the night goes on, his body's exhaustion fighting to overtake his mind’s paranoia. His body somehow wants to sleep and is desperate to stay awake at the same time, and he's caught between periods of feeling drowsy and feeling like he's drunk a whole pot of coffee to himself. It's hell, but he knows there's nothing he can do until Dean wakes up.

_'If _he wakes up', the cruel voice in his mind whispers once more.

The voice is proved wrong though. Coming out of the motel's dingy bathroom after getting a glass of water, Castiel nearly drops the entire contents of the glass onto the floor when he sees Dean struggling to push himself into a sitting position from the bed, groaning at the pain as he glances curiously down at the bandage

"Hey, Cas." Dean briefly glances away from the bandaging to him, greeting him as if it were a normal morning, the slight warble in his voice the only indicator that the events of last night were affecting him.  
"I'd give you a perfect ten, but honestly you wrapped this around me a bit too tight."

Emotions...

They were definitely the oddest part about being human. While it was true he had felt them as an angel, it was nothing compared to how they felt as a human.

As an angel, he had more control. Sure, at first it was difficult as he hadn't been used to, well, _feeling_, so there would be occasional times that an emotion would overwhelm him. And then as be became more human, fell more and more from grace, he had slowly adapted to these emotions, learning to embrace them. Still, once the full transition to human occurred, he was in no way prepared for how _intense_ it would all be.

Right now, he didn't know how to feel. Everything all seemed to hit him at once, fighting for dominance in the forefront of his mind.

It's relief at first. That kind of relief where your body doesn't know how to respond; stuck between the urge to laugh, smile, or cry. That twinge of happiness that accompanies the hope, knowing that Dean was going to be _okay_.

It's not what wins over, though.

Because now he knows Dean is going to be okay.

Now, he's _angry_. The unrelenting, white-hot fury that had been burning away in the background that had been buried down by the overwhelming fear and panic had now clawed its way back to the front.

Castiel puts down the glass of water in a manner he thought was calm, but the loud thud as it hits the side and the water sloshing over the side says otherwise. Dean doesn't react to it in the slightest, too focused on finding a flannel shirt to wear from his bag that wasn't torn apart or covered in blood.

Castiel’s hands bunch into fists by his sides, and he can feel his lips curl into a snarl as it all starts to boil over.

"You, Dean Winchester, are an inconsiderate ass."

Dean blinks up at him in surprise as he finishes buttoning up his flannel, taken aback by the hostility in Castiel’s voice.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean asks, hand dropping from the top button of his shirt.

"What makes you think you could do that? What makes you think you had the _right_ to so foolishly throw yourself in harm's way for no reason?"

"For no reason?" Dean argues back with a huff. "I had a reason-"

"No, you didn't." Castiel spits, Dean's attempt at defending himself only serving to infuriate him more. "I was _fine_. I could have taken out that werewolf no problem, I had a clear shot of its heart! At least I did until you started _blindly_ shooting at it."

"It was charging you, Cas! I did what I had to do."

"_No,_ you didn't. I could have ended the hunt right then and there, all you did was get the wolf to start charging at _you _instead. If you had just _let_ me kill it, you wouldn't have got injured like this!"

"I'm fine-"

"But you weren't!" Castiel’s voice raised near to a shout, and he paused briefly, not wanting any neighboring rooms to be listening in to their argument. "Dean, do you not realize how bad you were? How much you were bleeding? I thought-"

Castiel’s words get stuck in his throat. Saying the words out loud made the situation seem all the more real.

"I thought I was going to lose you."

Dean's face softened momentarily at the pain in Castiel’s voice, but the frustration he was feeling that was strong enough to match Castiel’s own quickly replaced it.

"Well, I didn't. The werewolf is dead, I'm fine. Things go wrong on hunts sometimes, that just the way it goes."

"But I don't understand _why_ you didn't let me kill it, Dean. You're the one that's always saying I'm more than an angel, more than my powers. I had a chance to prove that to myself, why didn't you let me take it?"

"What do you want me to say, Cas? That I'm sorry? Coz I'm not! I saw his claws and I saw you and... I took the shot."

"You wanna know what I saw?" Castiel argued back as he took a step forward, jabbing a finger into Dean's chest. "I saw you being reckless. I saw you taking an unnecessary risk. I saw his claws _rip_ through your skin. I saw you bleeding all over the Impala. I nearly watched you _die_, Dean."

"Look, I'm sorry for scaring you. Really man, I am. But I don't regret what I did. If there was any chance of you getting hurt-"

"There wasn't!" Castiel yelled, no longer caring if anyone heard. "We both know I could have killed it, I wasn't at any risk! _You're _the one that put yourself at risk when you started firing, and you nearly got yourself killed!"

Castiel’s voice had a slight echo, bouncing around the room before engulfing the both of them into silence. Dean's jaw fidgeted slightly in place, as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back.

Assuming that was the case, Castiel turned away from Dean with a heavy sigh, beginning to move towards the motel room door, figuring the best thing to do right now was to take a walk to try and clear his head.

"I was scared, Cas."

The vulnerability in Dean's voice halts Cas in his steps, hand hovering over the door handle, waiting to see if Dean would continue.

"Cas, you're human now-"

"I'm aware."

"I've seen you take some bad stuff, man. Shot at, stabbed. Shit, I mean, I stabbed you through the heart with a demon blade the first time we met, and you just pulled it out and looked at me like you wanted to laugh."

"And?"

"And... And I don't know. You've been human for a while now, and I suppose I should have figured this all out already, but... When I saw you and that Were I realized that you _can't _take that anymore. You can be hurt or killed just like the rest of us, and...  
I don't know. I always sort of saw you as this immortal being and now... Now we could lose you. _I_ could lose you."

Dean collapsed back down onto the bed, the pain from his injury beginning to take toll how the last dregs of unconsciousness were slipping away. Part of him wanted to grab the bottle of whiskey from across the room for a swig, but that would involve moving again, which he was not prepared to do.

"Do you not think its the same for me?" Castiel asked in a whisper, taking tentative steps towards Dean. "I gave up _everything_ for you. My family, my purpose, my mission, my entire _being_. I fell, for _you_. And if I had to do it all over again, I would.”

All of that, for you to be reckless with the precious life you have? I don't think you understand how much losing you would break me."

He wanted to stay angry. Wanted to keep shouting at him, part of him even wanting to knock some sense into Dean. But now, thinking about how close he had come to losing Dean, he just didn't have the strength.

Instead, he matches Dean's position, sinking down into the armchair he had patched Dean up in, pretending not to feel the dried blood upon the leather material underneath him. His fingers tangled into his hair, wishing more than anything that he could just stop feeling for a moment, to be able to think clearly without his own heart interfering.

When he pulls his hands away from his head, he sees that Dean is watching his breakdown with a guarded expression. There's something on his face that Castiel can't tell what is, unsure whether Dean was studying him or if he was wrapped up in his own thoughts. Either way, he remained silent.

"Do you know how old I am, Dean?"

Dean doesn't respond to his question straight away, and Castiel briefly wonders if he's broken him. Or if he's somehow managed to piss him off and is getting the silent treatment.

"No." Dean answers quietly

"Neither do I, really. I suppose I'd be considered one of the younger angels, yet I'm well over a few billion years old. It's quite a difference. Infinity, compared to an average of 70 years. The span of a human's life was like a blink of an eye to me. I barely gave it much thought, you were born, you lived, and you died, like most other of God's creations."

"Yeah, well, no offense Cas, but you were kind of a dick at first. It doesn't surprise me too much that you didn't really give us humans the time of day"

Castiel felt a twitch of a smile on his lips, despite Dean's insult.

"You're right. I was, as you'd say, a 'dick'. I had thousands of people praying to me every day, begging me to help them. To heal them of their illnesses and their injuries, to save them and their children from starvation."

"Yeah? M' sure that must have been annoying" Dean commented dryly, gathering enough strength to stand back up again, heading over to the side table and picking up the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"Strangely, no. You get accustomed to it after a few Millenniums."

"I bet," Dean said just before taking a swig, resting against the table as he does so.

"The thing is, I wouldn't help them. I _could_, I certainly had the power. But I also had my orders, I couldn't go revealing my true self to humans without permission. Except... I didn't understand _why_ they wanted to be saved."

Dean raised an eyebrow at this, dropping the bottle from his lips to frown at Castiel.

"What?"

"I was confused. All I ever heard from humans was their suffering. Why did they want so badly to remain in an existence where there is nothing but pain? I thought that, surely, I was helping them more if I left them to die? After all, those that deserved it would be sent to heaven. Eternal paradise. Wouldn't that be better?"

Dean looks annoyed by this, eyebrows furrowed, eyes sharp and narrow and lips twitching, seconds away from what Castiel knew would be insults to heaven.

"I know now it isn't that simple," Castiel added before Dean could begin his rant.  
"Now I see... How could I not, after meeting you?"

"Meeting... Me?" Dean questioned, voice laced with confusion as he pointed a finger to himself from the hand that was still holding the bottle.

"I had no idea the significance it would have on my life when I pulled your soul from hell. You and your brother were two humans out of 7 billion on the planet, from 105 billion that have ever existed. You helped show me that this world was worth saving. That life was worth living, even for the short time we have. That life is about spending as much as it with the ones we love, knowing how little time we have making it all the more valuable."

"Cas-"

"Which is why I'm _terrified _that someday, you'll get yourself killed. Even worse, you get yourself killed for _me_. Because in that time I thought I might lose you forever, I-"

Castiel’s voice hitched in his throat, and he realizes the tickling sensation he felt on his face were his own tears, sliding down his cheeks. Somehow, Dean had managed to make him cry twice in the span of 12 hours, which he's fairly certain is more than he's ever cried in the billions of years of his existence.

"-I realized that without you, life didn't seem as precious anymore. For the rest of my life, I would be blaming myself, for not being able to heal you like I once did, that maybe if I tried harder, you would still be here."

"I'm still here, Cas." Dean whispered, scared that if he raised his voice any louder, he'd be reduced to tears just as Cas was.

"You nearly weren't" Cas croaked, hating the way his own voice wasn't cooperating with him. "What if I could never see you again? That the last time I saw you was bleeding out in a worn-out chair in a falling apart motel in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn't be able to... Fly up to heaven and see you. Even if I could, there's no way the other angels would let me back in."

Castiel huffed a humorless laugh, wiping a hand down his face before throwing his hands up in the air.

"I don't even know what I _am_ anymore. What happens to me after I die. And so surely, that should make me want to spend whatever life I have left to the fullest, correct?"

"I-"

"I wouldn't. The rest of my life would be a countdown, waiting for the day I finally go, whether it be from the hands of a monster, a demon, another angel or, if by some miracle, peacefully in my sleep like normal humans.  
I would be waiting. _Waiting_ for the off-chance that _maybe_, falling has given me soul. _Maybe_, I'll go to heaven once I die. _Maybe_, just _maybe_ I get to be with you again. Because I can't- I can't think of anything I'd want more."

He wasn't used to this complete silence from Dean. He didn't think it was possible for a room to be so quiet, that it was almost deafening. Tears are still burning in his eyes and blurring his vision, but he can still see the blank look Dean is giving him. All he wanted was for Dean to _say _something, to show _some_ sort of a reaction to the fears he had confessed, that which he's kept buried down for much too long.

Castiel knows he shouldn't have excepted anything good from it really, but it didn't help to ease the disappointment he was feeling right now. On a bare minimum, he was hoping for Dean to at least realize how much what he had done had upset him, but now, the blank look Castiel is receiving seems to say the opposite.

He was done. He was tired, and he was drained, both physically and emotionally. The room felt much too small right now, and he felt the overwhelming need to leave, to go take a walk in the fresh air before he did something he'd regret.

Castiel’s shoulders droop slightly, casting Dean one last sorrowful look before shaking his head, grabbing his trenchcoat from where it was sprawled out on his bed, shrugging it on and making his way towards the door of the room.

He had barely begun to twist the handle when he feels a hand grab at his shoulder, tugging him back around. Irritation flares back up inside once more, and he has to fight back the urge to shout at Dean to let him go.

He doesn't get the chance, as when he turns, Dean is right _there_. He nearly smacks the back of his head into the door with how hard he flinches, immediately aware of the fact that Deans face was mere millimeters away from his own, aware of the warmth of Dean's breath as it fanned his face, seeing nothing but a stunning _green_ that encompasses his vision, eyes that seem to be boring into his own.

The part of him that always worries over Dean wants to scold him for moving so quickly, for possibly exerting himself too much. He opens his mouth to ask Dean if his stitching was still okay, but his words are swallowed by Dean's lips.

Dean’s lips move hesitantly against his, and Castiel can feel the uncertainty rolling off of Dean in waves. It takes Castiel far too long to realize its because he's stood stiff as a board, mouth frozen against Dean's. The shock is quick to wear off, and then he's quickly melting into it, muscles no longer as tight and coiled, heart beating furiously in his chest, though for a completely different reason.

His body seems to move on its own accord, hands sliding up to bunch up the soft flannel of Dean's shirt against his chest, needing Dean to be _closer_.

The taste of cheap whiskey still lingers on Dean's lips, and Castiel recognizes the faintly salty taste to be that of his own tears that had refused to stop falling.

While once all he could smell in the room was iron, now he was enveloped in a smell that was purely _Dean_. The mild aroma of Dean's aftershave, mixed with the overpowering smell of gunpowder that Dean could never quite seem to scrub out from his skin, no matter what soap he used. Even now, Castiel swears he can smell the leather from John's old jacket, ingrained into Dean's entire being after years of being worn.

'_Having to breathe_' was now one of the annoyances of being human that Castiel added to his list, forced to pull away from Dean when the burning in his lungs became too much to ignore.

Dean rests his forehead against Castiel as he recovers, eyes closed and looking more peaceful than Castiel has seen him in a while. Even he had to admit, a sense of calm had washed over him, feeling like he was able to think clearly again.

"I'm sorry" Dean gets out, the sincerity in his voice forcing Castiel to open his eyes. "I’m not ever going to stop worrying about you. I just- I can't help it. Its who I am."

"I know" Castiel reassured him. "But I need you to start trusting me more"

"I do-"

"Maybe you think you do, but when it comes down to it, when I'm in a place of danger, it's no longer there. I know that I'm mortal now. I know that I have to be careful with what I do now. You need to trust that I _know_ all of that. You need to trust that human or angel, I was once a soldier. I am just as capable as you are in hunts, and you have to let _me_ be the one to take the lead when I have to. I can't spend the rest of my life watching you throw yourself into danger for me. It’s not fair to me, and it's certainly not fair to you."

Dean sighed lightly, pushing himself away from Castiel, eyes focused on the floor as he gives a small nod of his head.

"It's hard for me, Cas. I know you can handle yourself. Hell, like you said, you've been a soldier of God since the beginning of time. But as soon as I see you could get hurt, I just-"

"-Want to do everything I can to keep you alive." Castiel finished for him, giving Dean a sad smile. "It's difficult for me too, Dean. But we'll figure this out, together."

"I'm sure Sam will have a field day when he gets to go all shrink on us." Dean jokes in a mumble, already knowing Sam will give him the same scolding he got from Cas once they get back home and he finds out what happened. "Team Free Will, now 100% human."

Dean throws the last part over his shoulder as he heads towards the bathroom to clean up, stopping in his tracks when he sees the trail of blood leading to the armchair, a puddle long since soaked into the carpet underneath.

"Guess we're not getting our deposit back."


End file.
